


'The Five Musketeers and The King's Men'

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:09:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21587389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Karl Langenscheidt watches as four new prisoners, including an American Colonel, create problems for Hogan and his men.  In the end, who will prevail, Hogan and his Musketeers, or the conniving Colonel King and his Kingsmen?   Langenscheidt thinks he could make a really great story out of the whole thing.  Now, if he can just figure out whether it's going to be a mystery or a comedy.  Hopefully not a tragedy.  Maybe a farce?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	'The Five Musketeers and The King's Men'

"Karl says he's gonna turn it into a story - 'The Five Musketeers and The King's Men'," Carter said afterwards, with a smirk. "Sounds like a book I read back in high school."

LeBeau admitted it really DID sound like something Alexandre Dumas could have written, at least when Carter said it that way, separating it into 'King's Men', instead of the way Colonel King had said it, 'Kingsmen'. The latter sounded more like a musical group, or so Colonel Hogan had claimed with a laugh. "Yeah, 'Colonel King and His Kingsmen' - think maybe I played drums for them at one New Year's Eve party."

"But this was not nearly so complicated, and there were no beautiful women, except for Hilda and she was not really involved so very much," the Frenchman insisted.

Well, as far as the rest of the men in Barracks 2 were concerned, it had been complicated enough that they didn't want a repeat any time soon. They had enough to deal with as it was. There was that munitions factory, after all, and the group of informants to be neutralized and/or protected (depending on who they were actually, REALLY informing ON and to WHOM, and Hogan wasn't too sure about that yet), along with that new group of escapees expected any time now. Yes, they really didn't need another episode like the one with Colonel King and his Kingsmen.

*The Five Musketeers:

By the time Colonel King and his three men had been delivered to Stalag 13, Barracks 2 had for some time been the home and operational base for Colonel Robert Hogan and his team. And they really were that, a team, one formed from vastly different sorts of men. First, just five individuals, but as initial tentative connections were made and then forged metal-hard by adversity and shared goals, then they had become a team, capable of things few would ever believe.

It hadn't happened all at once, of course. They'd all arrived at different times, under different circumstances, but with some unpleasant and highly uncomfortable similarities. They were, after all, all alumni of the 'New Prisoner Questioning and Orientation Program' the enemy prided themselves upon. They had survived; not everyone who went through that program had. 

(The flyers who'd been shot down, but rescued by Hogan's crew before they could be captured by the Nazi's, well, they might have HEARD about that ordeal, but it was something outside their own experience, perhaps led them to under-estimate the men to some extent. Now, even if they WERE captured, sometimes they'd be brought directly to one of the Stalag's to be held until those in charge of that program had time for them. Well, they WERE being kept quite busy these days.)

First, though, before it was a team, it was Newkirk alone, long before the Americans had even entered the war, doing his damnedest to survive, or maybe to get himself killed - no one was all that sure just how their irrasible English teammate had intended that to play out. Those who knew him best were't sure HE knew, himself. The stories the Command Team had eventually heard about those early days, well, they were just surprised he managed the first, since he sure seemed to have been courting the second, and had the scars and the record cooler time to prove it.

With the advent of Corporal Louis LeBeau, however, Newkirk's apparent suicidal tendencies had shifted into other, more productive, more protective endeavors, something that would have been quite familiar to Maude and Marisol, Alfie and Maisie, and of course, his sister Mavis. And Caeide, his Brat. 

Of course, those protective instincts resulted in some apparently self-destructive activities still, but more as a side-effect, and to a very different purpose than before. Now, the Englishman's emphasis was on survival, for the BOTH of them. 'LeBeau' quickly became 'Louie', and the two were as close as brothers, right down to the squabbling.

Gradually the rest of the team came together - Kinch, Olsen, Carter. Hogan had called them 'The Five Musketeers' once, during a rather brisk tongue-lashing over something or other - something about "when one of you decides to dive into trouble, the whole LOT of you don't have to jump in after him, you know??! Who do you think you are, The Five Musketeers??!" 

It turns out he was spot on, in the description anyway, and while that caused them to have each other's back, it also caused more than a little turmoil and confusion. Especially since the relationships, the interaction between the five were, well, not as straight-forward as the casual observer might think - in fact, were easily mistaken, misunderstood, by those not totally familiar with them. 

So, to many, they were not 'the five musketeers' as Hogan had designated them, but five men who probably didn't like each other very much, but who, for some odd reason, Hogan had assigned to the same barracks. His OWN barracks.

Well, just the constant wrangling back and forth between Newkirk and LeBeau, Newkirk and Carter, would have given that impression. 

Olsen kept a low profile, not going out of his way to seem too palsy with the others, at least not outside the barracks. The role he played required that; much easier to be Hogan's 'Outside Man', when no one would question too much if they didn't see him out and about with the others. 

And while Kinch pretty much hung around with one or the other of the guys, even in a group he was obvious as an outsider, at least to the less-savvy observers. Those observers, especially any newcomers, saw 'black guy'; the guys saw 'Kinch'.

Yes, it would have been easy to get the wrong impression. Easy to think you could take advantage, figuring there were no ties other than sharing the same barracks. 

But that wrong impression would quickly be corrected. After all, when one or another of those unenlightened observers tried to take on one of the five, they would quickly find they'd taken on all, not just one. AND that drew Hogan, senior prisoner of war, down on their necks.

And as far as trying to cause trouble of a different sort, play one of the men against the other? Well, that worked just about as well. 

Newkirk usually dealt with any of that with a hard fist, even though Hogan kept telling him to find some other way to deal with things. That there WERE other ways. 

Well, Newkirk admitted there probably were, but he was a firm believer in using old reliable methods, for attitude adjustments and a whole lot more. And he figured Hogan would be even more pissed if he brought out his 'pencil sharpener', that lovely little stiletto he was rarely without. So, it had to be the fists.

Holding up his hand, gazing at it with obvious admiration, clearly expecting them to do the same, he'd proclaimed, "aint nothing more reliable OR versatile, Kinch old man." 

He'd made Kinch sputter, choke AND spit coffee when he'd further explained just how versatile his hand really could be. 

"Don't mean just picking a pocket, or forging a document or stitching a uniform, or something like that, Kinch old man. But did you ever think about it? Just look at it! A true wonder, it is! It's just proof that I really AM a bloody good magician. Nev'r you mind about turning a rabbit into a dove. In just the blink of an eye, depending on the circumstances, I can transform this wonderous 'and, capable of so many fine things, into either Mrs. Thumb and 'er four sweet sisters, OR Mr. Rough and Ready and 'is four brothers. Amazing w'en you think about it." 

Of course, once he stopped coughing up the coffee that had gone down the wrong way, Kinch had gotten his revenge by suggesting to the bewildered-looking Carter that he ask Newkirk to explain exactly who and what those siblings were. Yeah, that had been one heck of a lot of fun, watching THAT! No one but Carter could put that look on Newkirk's face, part irritation, part confusion, along with a liberal helping of pure panic as the young American went into his usual 'huh??' mode. 

Newkirk, sardonic, perhaps jaded, man of the streets, had a real hard time dealing with Carter's level of naivete. Sometimes Kinch wasn't sure if Carter really was that innocent or not, but he sure put on a good show of being just that. The only surprise, maybe disappointment, at least as far as Kinch was concerned, was that Carter hadn't asked for a demonstration, just to be sure he understood right. Kinch would have given a pretty penny to see Newkirk's face if that had happened. 

{"I can hear him now! 'Bloody 'ell, Andrew! Don't go saying things like that where anyone else can 'ear you! Gonna get yourself in a world of trouble!' Of course, that would have left Newkirk explaining why NOT, and what kind of trouble, and we'd start the cycle all over again!"}

Well, whatever private plans Newkirk might have for Mrs. Thumb and her sisters, it was Mr. Rough and Ready and his brothers he kept having to turn to to keep the other occupants of Barracks 2 safe. Well, along with his devious mind; that ALWAYS came in handy and was even MORE adaptable.

For example, when Colonel King and the three who were known as 'the Kingsmen' joined the ranks at Stalag 13. 

*Colonel King and the King's Men:

Derrin McCaudle, Joe Baron, 'Cab' Cabelli - from the minute they swung down from the back of that transport truck, the men of Barracks 2 knew they were trouble. And as for the officer, standing and stretching, surveying the compound, the buildings, like a new landlord looking over a recent acquisition? As Andrew Carter put it so succinctly, "ohhhh, boy! Colonel Hogan, I think we may have a problem!"

Yes, Colonel Alex King had taken one look around, that too-casual salute from the guard at the gate, the less-than-crisp German uniforms, the fat and past his prime Sergeant who was urging them on to the Kommandant's office. Seeing the sorry excuse for a German officer wearing that ridiculous monocle? That left no doubt in King's mind that he could manage the situation in no time. After all, it was more than likely that he'd be the senior officer in camp, and if he wasn't, at least at the moment? Well, he'd find a way around that, one way or another. 

Funny, in a way, what with how much he'd heard about how tough the krauts were, what being captured would mean. Well, none of that had happened, had it? They'd been picked up by that patrol almost as soon as their parachutes touched down, and the sergeant in charge brought them straight here, to this cracker tin of a prisoner of war camp. 

(That the non-com had other, highly-urgent orders, ones that vastly superceded the importance of four Allied flyers, King hadn't been privy to; certainly didn't realize he should be thanking his lucky stars for that little conflict.)

Yeah, he was going to OWN this place. It might be a little piece of hell, but it was going to be HIS piece of hell, at least til he found a way out of there. 

(He DID take his name, 'King', more seriously than most other men took theirs, even to calling the three men accompanying him his 'Kingsmen'.)

He and the others had been led into the office of the camp Kommandant, there quickly joined by a pleasant-acting dark-haired American officer in leather jacket and crush cap.

"Colonel King, I'm Colonel Robert Hogan. Welcome to our little establishment. It's not much, but we call it home. Well, we call it a few other things, but sometimes we call it home." 

Finding out that the top ranking Allied officer in camp was also a colonel had been an unwelcome shock. 

Still, gauging by the other man's apparent age, King surely was the senior. King wasn't going to let the other officer slow him down in what needed to be taken care of, and quickly. He'd never found it beneficial to go the meek and mild route; best to set expectations right up front. He was sure this Robert Hogan would understand, would see it his way. The man sure didn't seem all that tough.

He had just nodded politely, smiled blandly, and, not wasting any time now that the formalities and paperwork was finished, turned to Hogan and proclaimed, "you'll have to show me to your, well, now MY quarters, Colonel Hogan. Perhaps there is another officer's billet you can transfer your belongings to? I really prefer not to share, I'm sure you understand. I prefer to take my own measure of the situation, without being inadvertently influenced by your experiences. And make sure there are enough empty bunks in the same barracks to accommodate my three men as well. Move whoever you need to around to make that happen, immediately, if you please. I'll be making other changes, once I get a good look at the men, see what I'm dealing with. I'd like to start getting things in place right away, do an inspection, take a look at the records, all that sort of thing."

Hogan glanced at the Kommandant, some quick non-verbal communication thumping Klink right between the eyes, and turned back to the newcomer and raised an eyebrow.

"Your commissioning date, Colonel King? From what you put down on your paperwork, I think you will find it follows mine by a few months. Not much, I agree, but just enough. I'm comfortable enough right where I am. And the men stay where they are."

There was that bland smile, returned with spades. Well, along with a few daggers shot from those smiling dark eyes. If he had been Navy instead of otherwise, he would have probably considered it a warning shot off the bow side.

Klink had seemed fascinated at the back-and-forth, blinking rapidly as he thought over the possibilities. Because, as HE remembered it, Colonel Hogan's commissioning date was actually quite a bit AFTER Colonel King's. There really was no question of the proper military protocol in this situation.

Still, military protocol notwithstanding, he had other things to consider, like his own job, keeping the camp under his firm (firm but fair!) command, staying as far as he could get from the Russian Front. Little things like that. 

Glancing up at both of the men standing in front of his desk, he came to a decision.

"Ahem, yes. That is certainly the way it appears, Colonel King," Klink nodded rapidly, rather like a toy bobbing bird drinking from a glass. "Colonel Hogan is still the Senior Prisoner of War here at Stalag 13."

He wasn't sure if this was a good idea or bad. Hogan was a handful and a half, always wanting special privileges for the prisoners, always trying to talk him into doing something or other, always up to something. The new man might not be as demanding. 

On the other hand, he had a good working relationship with Hogan, and there had been times when the American officer had actually been quite helpful. AND he played a very tolerable game of chess. There was no reason to think this new man would be so inclined, in either respect.

{"Oh, well. It's too late to do anything about it now anyway. I've already committed myself."}

There was something about the newcomer's expression that told both Klink and Hogan that King wasn't going to accept that decision easily. Luckily, neither Hogan or Klink were inclined to change their minds. Well, Klink might have, left to his own devices, but since Hogan had no intention of letting that happen . . .

In fact, when Colonel King suggested he be shown the records for Colonel Hogan, growling out a low "just to verify, you know. I'd hate for there to be any unfortunate misunderstandings," Hogan had protested.

"You're doubting my word? I can understand that, maybe, though it doesn't seem all that professional of you. After all, I'm as much of an officer and a gentleman as you are. But doubting the Kommandant, here? That's just not right! I'll have you know Kommandant Klink, the Iron Eagle, is the epitome of a German officer! It is insulting to even consider that he would be misleading you! Why you would think someone as strict on military protocol would ever do something in such opposition to regulations, I just cannot imagine!"

An impatient Germanic voice interrupted Hogan's protests, Klink having rediscovered his spine somewhere during that monologue.

"Thank you, Hogan, but I do not need you justifying my actions. They do not NEED justifying, after all. As you so aptly stated, I am quite strict in the adherence to military protocol, and would never consider, for the briefest moment, doing anything so outrageous!"

He made a mental note to fudge either Hogan or King's commissioning dates as soon as everyone left. Maybe disguised with an inadvertent splash of coffee.

Yes, Klink had rallied admirably, puffing up and doing a rather impressive impersonation of General Burkhalter. There was a great deal of sneering and scowling, a little yelling, all ending with -

"AND you seem to be under a small misapprehension, Colonel King. I am the Kommandant of this Stalag. You are an officer, yes, but you are also a prisoner. I do not require your assistance in running the camp or in 'validating' my records! Do not mistake my congeniality and reputation for fairness for weakness or inattention to my responsibilities! Now, you and your men will be billeted in, in . . ."shuffling through the papers on his desk, trying not to give Hogan a desperate glance.

Hogan cleared his throat, grimacing, rubbing one hand at the base of his throat, making it clear that he was perhaps getting a bit of a cold. Klink caught that signaling OTHER hand, the one away from Colonel King, out of sight of the newcomer. 

{"Four fingers extended, thumb folded under? Ah, yes, of course!"}

"Ah, yes, Colonel King, you and your three men will be in Barracks 4. It is currently empty. We will curtain off one end so that you may have the privacy an officer deserves. There are currently no other prisoners in there, though I may transfer in a few now that YOU are here. I would not want you to be lonely or feel neglected. After all, we are all one big happy . . . Well, anyway, I'm sure you will want to get to know some of the other prisoners. Many are really quite . . . Well, anyway . . ."

Hogan refrained from rolling his eyes; it wouldn't have aided his 'get this straight, buddy. I'M in charge around here!' performance for the officer who obviously thought to come in here and take over. 

Yes, he'd read Colonel King correctly, and they'd already gone through that a time or two with other incoming officers. Getting a different Senior Prisoner of War in camp played havoc with the operations, on a variety of levels. For one, it might get HIM transferred out, and even if that didn't happen, there was no guarantee a new guy would go along with the job they had to get done. Crittendon had proved that, him with all his ideas of what a 'proper prisoner of war' should and shouldn't be doing, escaping being on the former, and espionage being on the latter end of that spectrum. And Barracks 4 WAS the only one without a tunnel attached to it. Couldn't have any of this crew accidentally stumbling around down there.

*Recon:

They'd been settled in Barracks 4, an empty one just as Klink has told them. Colonel King was still smarting from that little episode in Klink's office, even more so since his three men, his 'Kingsmen' had witnessed him being rolled up like that. He probably had a little ground to recover there; well, he didn't figure it would take long.

"So, what did you find out, McCaudle?" Colonel King asked impatiently. He'd sent out all three of his men to mosey around and see what they could find out about the setup - the camp, the men, the guards, anything that might prove helpful. 

He was still going to own this place; it just might take a little longer than he'd thought at first sight. But he was going to need information, and his Kingsmen were going to get it for him.

Derrin McCaudle poured a cup of the weak coffee from the pot on the wood stove and rested one foot on the long bench pulled up to the table.

"Damnedest place you can imagine, Colonel. Everyone kowtowing to the krauts, that Colonel Hogan fawning over that idiot Kommandant like he's the second coming or something. Like a little calf trailing after its momma, wanting its breakfast, looked like to me! 

"Would you believe it? There haven't been ANY escapes, not since Hogan got here, no successful ones, anyway. The ones they tried, no one got away, and no one got hurt even, not much anyhow. No one's scragged any of the guards. It's like they're all a bunch of kids instead of soldiers! They get up to shit, yeah, but never anything serious. 

"And the Kommandant is a really pussy too. A little time in the cooler, that's about all he ever dishes out, except maybe for some long-winded lectures. You'd think with a wimp like that in charge, that wire and the towers couldn't keep anyone inside, but they just mosey around, playing their dumb games, dancing to records in the rec hall. Everyone else out there's trying to win this damned war - they're laying around like there's not even a war on!"

Joe Baron and 'Cab' Cabelli came through the door just then.

"Well, what did you two get," King demanded.

It was more of the same, but with more of an emphasis on the individuals involved, that having been their assignment. 

Baron elaborated on the guards. 

"That fat sergeant that met us when we got here is named Schultz; he's the senior non-com. Word is he's about as dumb as they come. Could probably pull off an escape right under his nose and he'd never even know the difference, or probably even care that much. 

"Seems to hang around Hogan's barracks a lot. Man loves to eat, as you can see, and somehow, he's always scrounging something off that little Frenchy they got over there. The rest of us eat that shit from the mess hall; whatever Schultz is getting over there has to be better than what's being dished up in his own mess hall OR in ours, I'd say.

"The rest? They run a pretty wide swath. That Corporal Langenscheidt seems to be about the sharpest of the lot, though that's not saying one hell of a lot, and it seems Schultz listens to him, Klink does too. That might be an angle to keep in mind, Colonel. Might be a way to slip some info to the Kommandant that he'd go for, when he might not if it came straight from you."

"Cab? What about the other prisoners? Who's running the show, along with Hogan? Who do we need to get on our side, who do we need to watch out for?"

Cab stroked the side of his jaw thoughtfully.

"You wanted me to start with the ones in the same barracks as Hogan. Some rotate in and out, but there's five that are solid. Three are American, one French, one a Brit. Olsen, Carter, Kinchloe, LeBeau, Newkirk. Hogan keeps them all pretty close at hand, probably in more ways than one," he said with a snicker. 

"The Colonel seems to be the touchy-feely type, if you know what I mean. A pat on the shoulder, leaning into one of them a little closer than he needs to, draping his arm around them even. Especially that Newkirk, the Brit."

Cabelli lit a cigarette and drew in a deep grateful drag. Noting the envious looks he was getting from the others, he threw a crumpled pack onto the table for everyone to help themselves.

Nodding to the pack, he'd explained. "Convinced one of Hogan's pets, that Sergeant Carter, to share. Didn't even seem to mind much; just asked him first off, nice and polite if he had any to spare. Thought I'd have to do some heavy pressing, you know, but naw, he just nodded and handed them over, smiling all the time. Told me that he knew what it was like, what with our Red Cross packages not coming in for another couple, three weeks most likely.

"That one, Carter, from what I can tell, is pretty much of a wooden-head. Easy going but falls over his own feet and talks all the time, never saying anything worth listening to. Supposedly half-Indian or something like that. The Brit obviously can't stand him; keeps snapping at him, or making fun of him, and the dumb cluck just nods and takes it! The others get after him too, but not nearly as much or as rough.

"The Brit, Newkirk. Now he's something else," Cabelli snickered. "Someone spotted the tear in my shirt, told me right off to go to Newkirk. Seems he's the camp 'seamstress'. Imagine a man owning up to that? He's a sarcastic s.o.b. from what I could tell, and not just with Carter. Heard him going round and round with the Frenchy, LeBeau, too. Have to say, the little guy was giving as good as he got, though; even if half or more of it was in French, he sure wasn't backing down any. His call to fame is that he's supposedly a real good cook, but they don't even have him working in the mess halls, for some reason.

"Newkirk, word is he's the camp cardshark. I don't really get it; everyone knows he cheats, but no one seems to get too upset about it. Same with him being a sneak thief; everyone seems to know, nobody does anything about it!"

He shook his head in disgust, thinking about what he'd seen and heard during his little walk-around. 

"These guys, everyone in the whole damned camp, must have had all the moxie thumped out of them before they got here, cause they sure don't seem to have any left.

"The little Frenchman, LeBeau, he's the one who keeps Schultz fed. Where he gets stuff no one else can, I don't know. I figure he's the blackmarket connection. I'd be more inclined to think it was Newkirk, as sneaky as he is, but the way those two get along, I can't imagine them working together that way for any reason at all."

Colonel King sat, smoking one of those cigarettes, digesting what he'd been told so far.

"And the other two Americans? This Olsen and Kinchloe?"

Cabelli snorted with disgust. "Kinchloe? Hell, Colonel, he's black! I didn't even know they put that sort in the same camp with white guys, much less in the same barracks. Well, he's not the only one here in camp, but for the Colonel to have him in his OWN barracks? There's something real weird about that. 

"Guy's supposedly a Golden Gloves champ, and word is he really IS handy with his fists. But, he doesn't go around making trouble; seems to leave that to the Brit. Well, probably figures he starts something, the rest of the prisoners will finish it real fast. A lot of good ole southern boys here; probably jump at the chance to put him in his place.

"And the other one, Olsen. A real pretty boy he is, maybe kinda backward; hangs back most of the time, don't see him too often. Now I can SEE Hogan wanting to keep HIM up close," he snickered. "Squint enough in the dark, probably makes the time go a lot faster, you know what I mean? That one, he stays pretty close to the barracks or if he's out and about, he's always with the other guys Hogan has on a leash. Probably a lot safer for him that way. Has a way of just melting into the shadows, though, there one minute, then gone. 

"The other one you might want to know about is the medic, Sergeant Wilson. Gruff looking kinda guy, looks like he never gets any sleep. Seems an okay medic, from what I can tell. Doesn't talk easily, real careful about what he DID say. Started to catch on right away that I was pumping him for information, didn't much like it either. Saw him talking to Hogan a little later, probably letting him know I was asking questions. Don't think we can trust him, not while Hogan's around."

Colonel King squinted down at the glowing end of his cigarette, pondering the possibilities. Hogan wouldn't BE around, not for long, anyway, not if he had his way. But in the meantime, there were other things to deal with.

"Alright, first things first. McCaudle, find out when the next Red Cross shipment is due in, and if there are any boxes laying around in storage anywhere we could get our hands on them. Try to find out the usual procedure for processing them, too; spot any points we might be able to cut into the line, do a little shopping, without anyone getting wise. 

"Start sussing out the crowd; all those packages go to someone. Figure out who might be willing to 'share', with the right 'encouragement'. We're going to need ammunition to get some of the krauts to look the other way when we start moving. So, candy, cigarettes, anything negotiable.

"And I want everyone keeping an eye on Hogan's crew. Kinchloe we don't have to worry about; not like he can just disappear into the crowd, and the rest of the camp probably watches him pretty close anyway.

"McCaudle, you stick to this Carter. Joe, you keep an eye on Newkirk; Cab, the Frenchy and the pretty boy are your job. I want to know every move they make, every argument they get into, anything we can use against them with Klink. They might not get along all that great, but Hogan wouldn't keep them with them if they weren't his guys. So, we start breaking away that support. The sooner we do that, the sooner I can take over. Alright, go."

Cabelli was brazen enough to ask, "and you, Colonel? What will you be doing while we do all this?" 

Yes, seeing their commanding officer get managed by Hogan and Klink had had an effect; none of them would have dreamed of questioning him before.

King had a very knowing smile on his face. He'd deal with his own guys later; he knew how, after all, but right now he had other things to deal with.

"Me? I'm going to find out more about our Kommandant Klink. No, I'm going to find out every little DETAIL about our new Kommandant. AND everything there is to know about Colonel Hogan. I think I'll start by cozying up to that pretty blonde in Klink's outer office. She's bound to know a hell of a lot about what's going on around here."

Well, Colonel King was a bit of a ladies' man, spoke German well enough to get by, even if she didn't speak much English. Even if he didn't get all the information he was looking for, maybe he'd get a little something else. Couldn't hurt for trying. 

Hilda wasn't having the best of days. Well, few of her days were totally great; there was a war on, after all. Add to that, her best friend Jackie had to cancel on their dinner together the previous night for some reason best not spoken of too loudly. 

Colonel Hogan had been by earlier, delivering a pair of nylons (which she liked), and suggesting a 'little back-seat time' after lights-out (which, frankly, she could have done without). Still, she'd smiled prettily, accepted the invitation graciously, knowing it was an ideal opportunity to let him 'discover' the latest information just received from Berlin without him knowing she had been trying to get it to him for two days now.

She'd missed lunch because of that conference call with General Burkhalter and others higher up than Klink in the food chain. 

Now, she looked up from her desk to see that new officer, Colonel King, leering down at her. No, not her best day.

Which probably explained her slapping that wooden ruler across his knuckles when he got handsy, and delivering a shrill set-down that brought Kommandant Klink barrelling out of his office. 

Turned out he didn't get much of anything except swollen knuckles and aching ears from all the yelling, neither Hilda nor Kommandant Klink being all that happy with King sniffing around her desk OR her skirts. 

It didn't help when Hilda mentioned his attempts to Schultz, Langenscheidt and a few others, including the residents of Barracks 2. A inwardly-furious Colonel King had to put up with lectures from Klink and Hogan, and a few sly warnings from various others. Somehow that didn't help his disposition much. He made up his mind to teach that uppity little bitch a lesson before he left this place.

*Paying Tithes:

"Kommandant, it seems like the Red Cross packages are a little skimpy this go around. Some of the guys who've been here and been getting them regular, well, there just weren't any for them this time. Planning a big party, are you?" Hogan asked with a cheerful smile on his face.

Klink pokered up immediately. "Hogan! I assure you, I would never . . ." He quailed just a little at that raised eyebrow and knowing look.

A weak smile replaced the indignant look, "well, perhaps some DID get misplaced. I'll get Corporal Langenscheidt on it right away!"

"Thanks, Kommandant! That would be great! I thought of taking up donations from all the guys, making up boxes for Colonel King and his three men, since there hasn't been time for the Red Cross to catch up with them. But I figured that was asking a lot of the men, especially with them running short. But, it seems I saw the four of them already had some stuff, so I figure my guys must have had the same idea and already shared. Unless you took care of that yourself?"

He'd seen Colonel King with a few items that could have only come from those boxes, and the same went for the Kingsmen, so he knew quite well they'd managed to snag boxes before the general distribution had been made. While Hogan WOULD have seen they got some of the supplies, any 'help thyself' that went on around the camp, that came only on Hogan's instructions. He'd have to find a way to make that point loud and clear to the newcomers.

*Protection Rackets and Shakedowns:

Olsen was inside the wire, would be til things calmed down, or til Hogan had an emergency, whichever came first. He'd spent the time making the rounds, and came back with information Hogan needed.

"So far I've heard about ten guys saying they've been approached. Pretty much the usual shakedown; they're sticking with the younger ones, some of the smaller guys. You know, the three Kingsmen cornering them, all smiles, suggesting they were just SURE our man would be HAPPY to share. The ones who didn't go along, they got the old protection racket spiel. The 'funny how accidents can happen, especially in a place like this. For the right price, we could kinda watch out for you, make sure one of those accidents don't happen to YOU.'"

Yeah, that was how things worked in some of the prisoner of war camps; those who'd come in from other places knew that well enough. But it didn't happen here, at least not since Hogan arrived. Newkirk was already thinking of how to impress that fact on the newcomers.

"And, Colonel? You'll hear about it soon enough, but . . . I decked that Baron joker just now. Better get the word out to the rest of the camp, especially those not so able to take care of themselves - maybe the younger ones, the smaller guys. Don't know about the others in his crew, whether they're out looking too, but no way am I letting Baron backing me into any corner with no one else around. He doesn't like getting 'no' for an answer - well, it wasn't so much that he even asked the question, more he just figured he wouldn't get any quarrel when he told me what he wanted."

Hogan glowered, "you okay, Olsen? Alright, Newkirk, you and me, we get the word out - Barracks chiefs, let them tell the others. Carter, LeBeau, stick with Kinch as much as you can. Alright, let's go."

*Carter's Mission:

"So you know what you're going to do, Carter?" Kinch asked. 

Normally this would have been something he would be taking care of himself - anything to do with the microphones, the wiring, the radio and transmitter, anything of that nature was his responsibility. 

But now, with the Kingsmen on the loose, always watching, snooping around, it was much harder, especially since Kinch stood out more than most of the other prisoners. Although he wasn't the only black man in camp, between his build, his height, his moustache and his position as one of Hogan's inner circle, he couldn't just disappear into the crowd. And he wasn't known for pulling the kind of nonsense that would get you punishment detail, and that was the backup story they'd planned on using for this job.

"Yeah, sure, piece of pie, Kinch! Get in, figure out why the microphone in Klink's living room is all squirrelly, fix the problem, and get back out before anyone catches on. Well, why would they? I'm on punishment detail, and the Colonel assigned me to dust and clean the Kommandant's quarters as part of my punishment for that run-in with that Baron guy."

"That's right, Carter. Now, don't get distracted. Get in, get the job done, and get the hell out of there. We all have eyes on us right now," Kinch cautioned him. 

He glanced up at LeBeau, and the Frenchman nodded in understanding. They'd keep a look out from over near the rec hall.

So, yeah, Newkirk would have normally taken on that job, but Hogan had laid the law down there; for some reason he didn't think Newkirk would be able to handle any trouble with discretion. So go figure! 

Now the Englishman was glowering at everyone from his bunk, obviously severely tempted to go do what he'd just been given a direct order NOT to do. Only catching that little side-play between Kinch and LeBeau kept him from doing that, and the wry grins exchanged acknowledged that. Of course, that didn't mean Newkirk wouldn't be keeping an eye and both ears open in case it went all pear-shaped; even Hogan didn't tell him not to do that.

Somehow, it just seemed a good idea for SOMEONE to be in the general vicinity while Carter was pulling off that little job. The man was reliable, sure, as long as you made allowances for his ability to trip over his own feet, open his mouth at the wrong time, along with a few other things. None of that kept them from thinking of him as their kid brother, of course; just made them careful to keep better watch over him than they might have otherwise.

And that proved to be a sound notion, for no sooner had Carter entered the Kommandant's quarters, glum look on his face, cleaning bucket and rags in one hand, feather duster in the other, than Derrin McCaudle had come tiptoeing up to the door, casually leaning against it, trying not to look like he was listening to anything that might be going on inside.

"Hell, LeBeau! Come on, we'd better run interference!" Kinch had exclaimed, and made his way over from the side of the rec hall, LeBeau following after. Langenscheidt had given them a quick, questioning look, but at a slight sidewards motion of Kinch's head, had gone back to walking his rounds. 

Still, the guard didn't totally take his attention from what now seemed to be the center of attention - the Kommandant's private quarters. He groaned to himself as he recognized one of the new men, one of a group he'd recognized from the beginning as having the potential for disrupting the smooth operation, well, smooth operations, plural, of Stalag 13.

Carter had just opened the door, carrying that bucket with dust rags on top, wire clips and various other sundries underneath the rags, running smack into Derrin McCaudle. Kinch and LeBeau were close enough to hear the low, threatening, "and what were you doing in there, Carter? You supposed to be wandering around inside the Kommandant's quarters like you owned the place? Maybe he'd like to know about that, you think?"

Carter cast a quick glance around, saw Kinch and LeBeau coming closer, deliberate and easy, so as not to draw any more attention. He blinked hard, and threw out the cover story they'd put together.

"If you gotta know, McCaudle, the Colonel said I had to dust the Kommandant's place because I knocked over the water bucket again while I was trying to dodge one of your pals. I don't see what one thing has to do with the other, you know, but Colonel Hogan was real upset, seeing it was his boots that got all wet, you know? Well, it didn't seem like I should be arguing with him, him being the Colonel and all," Andrew chattered on.

"Don't give me that bullshit, Carter. I wanna know what you were doing in there," McCaudle growled, not noticing he now had company.

"Problem, Carter?" Kinch drawled out low and even. Somehow that low rumble sounded threatening even though the words weren't.

"Well, I don't think so, Kinch. Except McCaudle's all upset about me cleaning up in here. I was just doing what Colonel Hogan said I HAD to do, and I don't really know why it's any of McCaudle's business in the first place," Carter explained, an earnestly innocent expression on his face.

"That is a most interesting question, McCaudle," LeBeau offered. "Just why WOULD you be upset at Andrew carrying out Colonel Hogan's orders? Why is it your place to question what he is doing, now or at any time?"

McCaudle tried a little bluster, but with it being three to one, that didn't get him very far. It turned into a little bit of a wrangle, McCaudle trying to shove LeBeau out of the way, but somehow LeBeau dodged and McCaudle connected with Kinch's broad chest instead. That didn't go down so well, with Kinch seeming inclined to illustrate just why he was a Golden Gloves champion, and when Carter tried to intervene, his foot snagged McCaudle's ankle, and in stumbling back, McCaudle had fallen over LeBeau, who was obviously trying to duck back out of trouble, ending up right behind McCaudle's knees. 

It had taken Langenscheidt to get things calmed down, and by then Hogan had arrived. It would seem the officer was a little put out at having his afternoon nap disturbed by all the noise, and McCaudle got one hell of a dressing down. The others got a mild scolding, which obviously McCaudle didn't think was fair, but of course, Hogan took his men's side. 

It didn't help when, after the Kingsman reported back to Colonel King, and King decided to complain directly to the Kommandant, Klink took Hogan's side. Well, that Corporal Langenscheidt had something to do with that. According to HIM, he'd seen the whole thing, and McCaudle ended up in the Cooler for two days for starting trouble.

Things settled down a little, only to flare up again the day after McCaudle was back in Barracks 4.

*Payback from the King's Men:

"Talking a lot of trash, Colonel, thinking to get the others to gang up on Kinch. Tried at first to include LeBeau, but that near got them laughed out of the room, so they dropped that quick enough. They're still including Carter, but mostly zeroing in on Kinch. Knows all the right buttons to push, too; there's a few blokes over in Barracks 6, maybe a couple out of Barracks 8, willing to join in. Could get out of 'and afore you know it."

Well, the rest of the Five Musketeers would be on the lookout for trouble, and no one intended for Kinch to end up on the end of any vigilante action.

As for Hogan? He had taken swift action of his own, having a wake-up-call meeting with each of the Barracks chiefs, naming names and taking names. Soon, things settled down again in that direction.

As for Colonel King, Hogan had a little bit of a wake-up-call meeting there too. It had included a little bit of the carrot and the stick routine, leaning heavily in the direction of the stick, Hogan figuring that was the basis King and his men seemed to operate under themselves. 

And the next time any of the Kingsmen stepped out of line? Hogan would be waiting to drop the hammer.

That took about two days, when Hogan got word that McCaudle, probably acting on orders from Colonel King, had sidled up to Corporal Langenscheidt with a wonderful tale about Carter planning an escape. 

Langenscheidt had acted most interested, and before you knew it, there they were in front of the Kommandant's desk - both Colonels, McCaudle and Carter. Newkirk had argued for HIM going along too, but since there was no real reason he WOULD have been there, and since Hogan had caught a glimpse of that hard glitter in Newkirk's eyes, that had been a no-starter. He didn't need Newkirk ending up in the Cooler for starting a fight, or more likely, FINISHING a fight. The Englishman just was no respecter of persons, officers or not, and Hogan didn't think even HE could talk Klink out of cell time if Newkirk flattened Colonel King right in front of everyone.

Somehow, after it was all over, Colonel King was confined to quarters, and McCaudle had been turned over to Hogan for appropriate punishment for trying to cause trouble. There was something about the satisfied smile on Hogan's face that suggested he had just the right punishment in mind, too. 

Carter gleefully told the others, "the Colonel, boy, he told McCaudle that, if he was so eager to stir up shit, he had just the punishment detail for him!"

*Latrine Duty:

No matter the suspicions running rampant through the camp, Newkirk had NOT jimmied that rung on the long ladder used to descend into the godawful stinking horror that was the latrine gathering pit. 

Not that he wouldn't have been quite willing to, of course; it was that he hadn't NEEDED to. He'd noticed that rung being a little wonky the last go around when HE'D been assigned that nasty job - punishment for some bit of mischief even above what Hogan was willing to countenance. 

He'd made a note to have it fixed before the next clean-out day, but what with one thing and another, he hadn't yet. And when Hogan, a full week ahead of the usual schedule, assigned that twister McCaudle to get down there and heave out the buckets, Newkirk decided making those repairs could probably wait for awhile.

In the helpful spirit for which he was so well-known (sic), Newkirk had made sure he was one of those, along with Johansen from Barracks 6, bracing the ladder from above. That meant, of course, he got to hear McCaudle's protests as he reluctantly descended into that pit, AND that he got a beautiful view of the disgruntled McCaudle headed back up the ladder at the end of the job, muck up to his knees and above. 

He'd crossed his fingers, hoping that rung would cooperate, and it did. Therefore, he got an even MORE beautiful view of McCaudle's face as he plunged backwards and down into the foul mess below. 

The noise, the yelling, the cursing, and what sounded like someone having hysterics, drew the attention of the guards, who stood there in shock at Corporal Newkirk laying on his back, holding his ribs, tears streaming down his face, laughing so hard he couldn't stand up. 

It had taken Schultz fetching Hogan to get Newkirk up and back to the barracks, directed to wait in Hogan's quarters since "I think we need to have a talk, Corporal!" For one thing, he was going to have to explain, for the umpteenth time, what 'discreet' meant.

From that grin lingering on the Englishman's face, he obviously figured whatever the price, he felt it was well worth it. If McCaudle had just messed with HIM, he'd probably have held off, but messing with Carter? Not to mention Kinch and Louie? No, that called for something no one could possibly mistake the meaning of. After all, he remembered The Brat explaining to Maude after one similar episode, "'subtle' is highly-overrated, Maude, at least I've always found it to be so. People just don't tend to UNDERSTAND 'subtle', not so well as you'd perhaps like them to."

It had taken the combined efforts of several others to drop a rope down to the sputtering and cursing McCaudle and pull him up. It didn't help that they refused to do anything of the sort til he'd tied other ropes to the remains of the ladder so they could pull those up first.

Colonel King had confronted Hogan of course, AND reported the matter to Kommandant Klink, but Hogan just told King that "it was an accident; could have happened to anyone, Colonel." 

And Klink? He had no intention of getting in the middle of what was becoming a very messy contest of wits and power. Frankly, he had private doubts he was equipped to handle either. Hogan alone was enough to give him a headache on most days.

*Time to Say Bye-Bye:

Kinch had been doing his usual keeping a listening ear on Klink's office when he came to a quick alert. 

"Colonel, you gotta hear this! Colonel King is in trying to convince Klink to put through a 'formal and official request' to General Burkhalter to put HIM in charge of the prisoners. He's demanding a formal review of the paperwork and commission dates, and a lot more. You'd better get over there; sounds like Klink might be getting ready to cave!"

Well, of course, that was the final straw. So far it had been ticklish but manageable, still somewhat amusing on some level, but getting Burkhalter involved moved the situation right into the 'serious' camp. It took only a split second before Hogan decided Colonel King and the Kingsmen needed to leave Stalag 13, and leave pretty damned fast.

Hogan headed out to put his finger in the dike, at least temporarily. That extra little insurance just in case they needed a little extra, was already in place in Barracks 4, thanks to a little assist from Corporal Langenscheidt. No, Karl didn't like Colonel King either, NOR any of the three men he had brought into camp with him. Life was difficult enough as it was, without anyone else trying to put them all at each others' throats. Well, yes, there WAS a war on, and they were technically enemies, but he didn't see any reason for that to hold any more sway inside the camp than absolutely necessary.

"An extra ace 'as never done anyone any 'arm," Newkirk had insisted after he'd come back from gathering that 'insurance'. "Well, unless someone catches you with it and slits your gullet," he admitted with a knowing grin.

So when Hogan had barged into Klink's office, he was well prepared. 

"Kommandant, I really hate to rat out another officer, but I don't want any blowback on the rest of the prisoners. I mean, it's not like it's THEIR fault; THEY respect you, you know, even if you are technically the enemy.

"Oh, hey, Colonel King, I was just coming to discuss your recent, uh, activities. You know, I don't know what you were thinking, but the Kommandant here, he may be strict, but he's fair. I think you stealing things out of his safe, trying to get him in trouble with the Brass, is just taking unfair advantage of his fairness."

Well, that had been a riot to listen to, and the guys at the other end of the coffee pot had wide grins the whole riotous time. 

Of course, King had denied any knowledge of any such thing.

"And aint that the bloody truth??!!" Newkirk had grinned. He and that safe in Klink's office had a long established and quite intimate relationship. If life were fair, he'd have been forced to buy the poor thing a ring long before now, as often as he'd made himself free with its charms.

Whether Klink believed Hogan's story or not, he certainly acted as if he did, and postured like a beady-eyed rooster on the prod while they waited for Langenscheidt to retrieve that little bundle. It didn't take too long; the corporal located it in just the third place he'd looked. Imagine that! 

Klink's jaw dropped at what Langenscheidt silently handed him, and then erupted. This time he combined a little 'Hochstetter' frothing at the mouth with the previous Burkhalter impression. Hogan had to admit, it was pretty damned impressive.

After having an open-mouthed Schultz escorted Colonel King to the cooler, as soon as that office door closed behind them, Klink had collapsed back into his chair, dropped his head into his hands and moaned loudly.

"And what are we to DO with him, Hogan? I mean, what am I going to do with him? He's already threatened to waylay General Burkhalter, or anyone else of rank, the next time they arrive in camp. Can you imagine if Major Hochstetter is that next someone who shows up?? Colonel King could get us BOTH shot! I cannot keep him in the cooler forever, and what if he attracts someone's attention anyway?? We could have an have an inspection at any time. That could be a disaster!"

Yes, Hogan had heard that nasty little threat, knew King wouldn't hesitate, and had a ready solution. Of course, it wouldn't do to just jump right in and lay it all out; for one thing, it would look suspiciously like Hogan had already had that in mind. For another thing, just where would be the fun in THAT??!

"Well, Kommandant, it's your camp. I'm sure you will think of something. I've done more than enough already; probably more than I should have, considering Colonel King and I are supposed to be on the same side," Hogan uttered, turning with a smile to head back out the door. He paused, turned around, and with a thoughtful look, continued.

"But, it just occurred to me. Maybe if Colonel King gets put in charge, I can get transferred to someplace with a little less responsibility. Maybe somewhere with better food, maybe an extra slice of white bread with my meals. Someplace the kommandant isn't as ruthless in his dedication to having no escapes. 

"Why, I could be out and back to London in a couple of months, I bet! Ya know, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea after all. Want me to go tell Colonel King it's all his if he wants it? Bet he hasn't settled down for the night yet!"

"Hogan! Get back here! This is your camp as much as it is mine! Well, not exactly THAT, but still, the prisoners are your responsiblity too! It is perfectly clear that Colonel King is NOT inclined to be fair in dealing with them! Why, look at how he accused Sergeant Carter of some nonsense when all he was doing was dusting! He wanted to have me throw Sergeant Kinchloe and Corporal LeBeau into the Cooler, just for bumping into the prisoner McCaudle! He wanted me to have Corporal Newkirk shot, just because McCaudle fell into the latrine! Now, is that someone you really are willing to turn your command over to? Where is your loyalty to your fellow soldiers?"

It took a while, eventually requiring Klink's anxiously offering Hogan a cigar, pouring him a glass of schnapps, but eventually Hogan agreed that, maybe it WAS better that he stay in charge. Of the prisoners, that is. 

"YOU should probably still handle the guards and everything, you know," watching Klink's eyes open so wide his monocle popped out. 

"HOGANNNN!!! DIS-MISSED!" 

Hogan kept that smile off his face til he was in the outer office. 

Klink, well, he treated himself to a double shot of schnapps. If Colonel King had been even a touch easier to deal with, he'd have given serious consideration to that proposition! Well, no, probably not. But still, it was a pleasant thought.

It was with a heavy heart (not!) that Hogan and his team watched the transport truck pull in. According to Rene, he and others of the Underground would waylay that truck before it got twenty kilometers. The driver would make sure of that, already BEING one of the Underground. And immediately thereafter, Colonel King and his men would be bundled up and taken to where transport awaited to take them to England. 

While it didn't seem quite fair that the four troublemakers were headed back to London while the team stayed here, in harm's way, that was the way it had to be. They'd discussed just letting the bastards GET transferred to another camp, but no one trusted King or one of the others wouldn't find a way to cause trouble even from another location. Well, it would only take the wrong (or right) word to a visiting officer, maybe one of the Gestapo, and the whole operation could go down in flames. And no one put it past the bastards, any one of them.

Hogan had appeared to bid them farewell, bland smile on his face, the same smile he'd worn during their initial meeting, their orientation. None of the four seemed overly appreciative of the courtesy. 

McCaudle had been the last to climb aboard, and Newkirk took the opportunity to "give you a 'and there, mate". A rather hard, abrupt hand, at that, one that found McCaudle sprawled facedown on the bed of the truck.

No, he hadn't appreciated the threats and attempted intimidation toward Carter or LeBeau or Kinch, not one little bit. 

Yeah, Hogan had told him, quite firmly, to show restraint. Newkirk considered that WAS showing restraint; there were a lot of other possible reactions that had crossed his mind, after all.

Newkirk had made sure to give Rene a personal warning as well. 

"They're a nasty lot, Rene; watch your back. That Colonel King, the others, especially that McCaudle bloke, you don't tell them squat, don't let none of them over'ear anything they shouldn't. Talk too bloody much, 'ave too many opinions not backed up by anything going on in their brain, and just aching to cause misery for someone. And don't leave the blighters around anyone not able to take care of themselves, Tiger or Jon or anyone else. Got notions, they do. Woulda put the boot up more'n once if the gov 'adn't gotten snippy about it. You don't trust a one a them, not for a second!"

The last sight Colonel King and the three others saw was Hogan standing next to Kommandant Klink on the steps of his office, staring off after them, a serene smile on his face. 

And the men from Barracks 2? They stood in the middle of the compound, waving merrily as that truck headed out the gates. 

"Well, that's good riddance to the King and 'is Kingsmen," Newkirk declared. "Now, to get back to the important things. Carter, 'ow's about I beat you at a nice little game of gin?" the Englishman smirked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Carter snorted, "yeah, like that's gonna happen. You may be a whiz at everything else, but face it, Newkirk. Gin is MY game, not yours!"

"That's only cause I aint figured out 'ow you keep winning, Carter. Cause w'en I do, that's all going to change, you mark my words!" Newkirk protested.

LeBeau frowned, "you do not have the time to be playing cards, Pierre! I have dinner to prepare, and you have not yet obtained what I need! Now, can you remember what I told you I needed, or is your English brain just too thick for a list of five items?"

"Thick??! Well, I'm not so thick as to go getting you some nonsense for you to go making another of those French messes you keep claiming is food! 

"Come on, Louie," Newkirk's voice changing from indignant to something close to pleading. "W'at's wrong with bangers and mash for a change, maybe a nice bubble and squeak? I know the mess 'as some sausages, and there's a bag of potatoes and onions that just came in, and there's always cabbages around. It'd be easy enough! I'd even show you 'ow it's done! Bet even a Frenchman could wrap 'imself around the job. Even YOU, if you really put your mind to it."

Kinch nodded a greeting to Hogan as the senior prisoner of war walked over to join him. 

"Everything alright, Kinch?" Hogan asked.

"Yeah, Colonel. Everything's back to normal," jerking his chin at the three having their usual back-and-forth.

The two men grinned at the sight. 

"Yeah, looks like you're right, Kinch. Everything's back to normal."


End file.
